A Lightning Strike in Bangladesh
by IamInferior
Summary: "Anti-racism is code for anti-white!" Unfortunate words that shattered her life. And then the girl that broke it further. Perhaps there was a faint glimmer of hope lurking, perhaps things could be put back together. Modern AU. Not about Napoleon. No, seriously. I promise.
1. The Roar of Thunder

**Author Notes: **For frz.

* * *

"Anti-racism is code for anti-white!" Elsa said. Right in the middle of class. She did not mean to say that. She looked around. People were staring. She had to do something.

Anna always told her to be herself, right?

Don't quote the copypasta. Think of something original.

"I mean, if we examine things objectively, we find the inhabitants of certain other continents really do have lower IQs on average. It's far more unreasonable to impose the same expectations we have for white people or, say, East Asians. These two races possess enough intellect to create civilization. Others do not. We see consistent failure to produce proper societies in other races. And this is the obvious result! Degeneracy and cultural collapse!"

Elsa took a deep breath. Elsa was surrounded by a sea of angry faces. Someone stood up on the other side of the lecture hall, a blonde. Elsa was about to continue when she was interrupted by a loud, high-pitched screech.

"How DARE you?" screamed the blonde.

She had horn-rimmed glasses and green eyes. And a red face. A very, very red face. She was biting her lip as her face turned redder and redder. The girl was panting hard. Elsa glared at the blonde, while the girl raised a hand. She needed a moment. Her breaths got more even and steady. Eventually, she looked Elsa dead in the eyes.

"Don't you realize these people don't have the same opportunities you do? You're white in a First World country! You have an unbelievable amount of opportunity. You can't blame these people for not being intelligent. Look at yourself. You're being educated in one of the finest institutions in the United States. Many of these people don't even have schools. And they're malnourished, which is known to damage brain development. Even if they wanted to come here, they wouldn't be able to afford it-"

"Bullshit! They can't get in here because they're not capable, plain and simple. Reitherman University works hard to get all the minorities it can, and it can never get enough, even with affirmative action lowering standards. And that's because these hordes of smart minorities just don't exist."

"You're just saying that because you're white and can't see past your own privilege," said the girl.

"I _earned_ everything I have," hissed Elsa. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the professor grimace and raise a hand.

"You didn't earn your skin color. You didn't earn all the centuries of world dominance thanks to European imperialism and its exploitation of poor native labor. Anti-racist measures are literally the least white people can do to make amends. White people have to make amends. It's the right thing to do."

"By letting them flood into white countries? By letting them destroy infrastructure carefully built up through the blood and toil of generations-"

"-black generations, enslaved and forced to do the bidding of White America! This country was built on the backs of slaves!"

"-our ancestors would we… that happened hundreds of years ago! It's Africa for the Africans and Europe for everyone, right? This isn't humanitarian. This is genocide. The premeditated, mass mixing of races is nothing more than extermination."

The girl's jaw dropped.

"You call that genocide? Real genocide is what happened to my ancestors. What you're talking about is love. What I'm talking about is the systematic imprisonment and annihilation of peoples to prop up the stability of an inherently destructive and hateful regime."

Elsa couldn't believe it. She was bringing up the six gorillion.

"Right, yeah, the experience of a few Jews justifies the extermination of an entire race, even though everyone responsible is already dead. Stop the tears, Jew," said Elsa.

"Excuse me, my people were exterminated en masse, too-"

"Right, show me the proof."

"-and the world just watched. Don't you realize consensual sex and… and... non-consensual murder are different?! I – just – what – I don't even – I can't handle this."

The professor cleared her throat. Her face was buried in the textbook.

"Ladies, this is a mathematics course. I'm sure you're very passionate about... things... but there is a time and a place for everything, and this is most certainly not the place nor the time. Now, if everyone would turn to page 375?" said the professor.

Elsa looked around. People were staring at her. Many of them had their phones out. She suddenly felt a heavy weight pulling her down. It was all being recorded, every moment of it.

Of course it was. Two hundred and thirty-seven people, or approximately two hundred, or about four hundred eyes drilling deep. Some people were silent, others muttering. All of them, all of them now subsumed into one faceless mass of churning, roiling flesh, a hundred-handed thing ready to reach out to destroy the Other. She should've felt at home. She didn't. She was struck by an overwhelming feeling of hollowness, like her essence had been scooped out.

Her skin was pierced all over by a thousand prickling needles, pieces of her leaking out through the holes.

She rushed out as fast as she could once the lecture was over. But it wasn't fast enough. The blonde was already storming up to her, one hand balled into a fist, the other shaking an index finger accusingly.

"How dare you say such awful, hurtful things in class in front of everyone? Why don't you think about your words? Is it because racists don't ever think? Is it because they never had to? Because their _slaves_ always did all the work and now that imperialism is over, they can't handle the real world? Shitlord!" screamed the blonde.

"Just leave me alone, okay? I'm really busy, I have places to be. Please, please, don't bother me. I just... I can't, alright?" said Elsa.

"If you don't want to be held accountable, you shouldn't oppress others! Get back here!" shouted the girl.

"Look, I have a class in five minutes and two more immediately afterward. I have to go."

"And they had to be free! But just like Pharaoh, you refuse to let my people go! So, like Moses, I'll have to bring the fury. The froggy fury!"

"What are you even talking about?" asked Elsa.

"I'm talking about you using your white privilege to get-"

"-to get what?"

"-your unearned-"

"My unearned what? My unearned scholarship? Or the unearned grades that earned it, because standards are so much lower for white people. Maybe it's all the wealth I have from being white - I just love the run-down shithole aesthetic of my house. It's _authentic. _I'm so, so very happy you helped me check my privilege. So. Very. Happy."

The blonde opened her mouth then closed it. She looked thoughtful. Elsa waved her hand in front of the blonde's face, but received no response.

Elsa decided to beat a hasty retreat.

* * *

Elsa opened the front door. It had been several hours since the ordeal. Mom was there, clipping coupons. Cobwebs were gathering next to the fridge. Elsa quickly removed them. She pulled up a chair, flipped it around, and sat at the table. The linoleum of the kitchen was browning but still functional.

"Did you take your medicine?" asked Elsa.

"Of course Elsa, you don't need to worry about me," said Idunn.

"What kind of a daughter would I be if I didn't worry?" asked Elsa.

"Oh, Elsa. You always were a good girl," Idunn said.

"Were? I'm not anymore?" said Elsa, mock offended. Then she remembered the blonde. Her heart sank. Her face went pale.

"Elsa? You look tired, what's wrong?" asked Idunn.

"Nothing mom. I've just had a rough day," said Elsa, "and it's been a bit of a mess. Everything has been a bit of a mess."

"You shouldn't work yourself so hard! Your health is the most important thing, not mine. Who am I anyways? Just a silly old woman past her time," said Idunn, smiling.

"Don't say that!" said Elsa, grimacing.

"I'm sorry," said Idunn.

"No, I'm sorry. It's just... ugh. How was the doctor?" asked Elsa.

"It was fine. He said I should visit a specialist, but I said it was too expensive," Idunn said.

"Go back and tell him you want the specialist," said Elsa.

"But Elsa..." said Idunn.

"No ifs, ands, or buts. You need the specialist? You'll get the specialist," said Elsa, standing.

"It's so expensive!" said Idunn.

"It doesn't matter. College was expensive too, right? But I got a full ride and a stipend. I'll find a way, Mom."

Elsa walked out of the kitchen, down the hallway. She put her hand to her forehead and sighed. That scholarship was toast, wasn't it? She could've puked, but that wouldn't have accomplished anything. So she didn't. The only thing she could do was keep her chin up. Chin up, eyes forward. Hard work and a quick wit, that's what Father always said.

Elsa went to the bathroom and puked. Her tears mixed with the vomit in the toilet bowl. She bashed her head against the seat, once, twice, three times. She stopped. Briefly, she saw the face of her father in the white porcelain, warped and obscured by dirt, his brow furrowed in disappointment. He would have had the answers, but she didn't. She screamed. She tried to apologize, her words slurring and mixing together into incoherent nonsense, but couldn't. Then she threw up again. She undressed and sat herself in the tub, turning on the shower head, which rained down upon her. Little rivulets of water ran down her bare body, danced their way downwards, and collected on the white porcelain below. Cold sweat mixed with warm water and dry dust, leaving small black streaks on her body, which soon too disappeared, washed away by the coming of more raindrops. Elsa's body shook with silent sobs. She turned off the water and sat quietly for a good five minutes. Finally, slowly, deliberately, she stood. She leaned against the bathroom walls for support, stepped out onto the floor. She felt the cool tiles beneath her feet. She wiped herself clean of water droplets, especially around the eyes. She dressed herself again.

Elsa went to the mirror and looked at herself. Her eyes were red. She washed her face with cold water and left. She took a deep breath and a long look at her sister's door. She resisted the temptation to knock – knocking would be useless. Anna was away, as she usually was. Doubt nibbled at the back of Elsa's mind. Anna was quick to reassure her, but Elsa knew how dangerous that neighborhood could be. And she knew the contempt they had for a uniform, even if the girl wearing it was the sweetest thing in the world, who would never do anything ugly, who was always there when you needed her. It wasn't that Elsa doubted the stopping power of 9mm – far from it. No, she doubted her sister's ability to fire a shot in anger.

And at the end of the hallway, her room. The paint on the door was peeling, but there was no point in paying for little vanities. The doorknob had broken a few times before, but she knew how to fix it. She stepped inside. The room was illuminated by an eerie electric blue light, the glow coming from her computer's monitor. In the corner, a Mosin Nagant sat lazily on several boxes of ammunition. Books were scattered on the floor, some frivolous, most practical. Most practical indeed. She eyed the computer warily. Some other time, it would have to come some other time. Perhaps after Ron Paul made anime real. She looked at the mess of machinery in what was intended to be a closet. Broken devices sat on piles of scrap and wires, all of it scavenged from what the labs threw away. On the shelves were various boxes of chemicals, gifts from generous and grateful professors. She had been the star pupil of many of her professors.

Had been, she was certain. Now she had to work. One of these contraptions had to be her ticket out.

She refused to believe in any other possibility. Outside, the clapping of thunder.

* * *

Away, far away, in distant lands, through hills forgotten by time, muddy waters roiled, near full to bursting. Brown hands worked, frenetic with activity, stacking sandbags, the sand inside as inconstant as the waters, hoping they would be enough. Bit by bit, the waves grew, as did the walls, until it seemed like they grew to match each other in strength, each defying the other as mortal foes so often do. Hope grew with each thumping impact of sand against sand, and it sank with each rising of the waters.

Above, dark clouds gathered, roaring with anger. Rain came down in thick sheets, slicing downwards with the howling of the wind, stinging little dark dots into the earth. Still, the waters grew. Still more distant was a hospital. Even in the best of times, barely half of the staff worked. Some of the wards hadn't been updated since the fall of the Raj. Lights flickered as uncertain candles. The lullaby of humming electricity grew dimmer and dimmer in the maternity ward, before it wished the children good night. Then all was dark, the night only occasionally shattered by white flashes filtered through blinkered shutters, and quiet too, save for the whiplash raging of the winds outside and the rumbling of the skies.

* * *

**Author Notes:  
**

"At least give her cancer!" - Joma, 2015


	2. Away from the Ferry

Rapunzel sat, drinking a Double Shot Whipped Cream Chai Tea Espresso Deluxe, extra vanilla. Little bits of cherry and mango swirled inside – her own personal touch. On occasion, bless their hearts, they messed up the order, but luckily, she was there to teach them how to do it right. Week by week, she'd be there, helping them better their drink-making performance.

The sun was shining, the birds were singing, a dance troupe was giving an impromptu performance, everything was perfect. And yet she still felt a bit strange down in her stomach. It wasn't the drink – she had the same thing every day, same time – and she loved dancing. There was no truer expression of the self than dancing. Wait, no. Maybe singing. Or drawing. Or cooking.

There were a number of ways to self-expression, and they were all lovely in separate but equal ways. Still, something sat uneasily with her. It was not the drink, for sure. It was that girl.

Rapunzel checked her watch. It was pretty high quality. Her dad had given it to her. It could do all sorts of things, but the niftiest feature was the radio transmitter. If she was ever in trouble, she could call for help. Dad cared. Sometimes he cared too much, but that was fine. The world would be a better place if people cared too much rather than too little, at least in Rapunzel's opinion. She could check the time with her phone, but there was just something about a watch. Sometimes, but not often, old ways were valuable.

The girl was overcompensating. That was the answer. Everyone needed to feel better than someone else; why would anyone watch TLC if not for that? It was a shame, a lot of channels used to be good. TV was a lot better when she was a kid, but the big corporations had merged everything together into one monstrous rating machine nowadays.

But that was besides the point. It was like poor whites in the Civil War. They really didn't have anything, but those poor fools kept fighting just because the elites told them there were a step above blacks – African-Americans! – which was the only thing they could cling to in their otherwise miserable lives. It was really a shame, since it was a classic divide-and-conquer tactic used by the oppressors to keep the oppressed down. They ought to be natural allies.

And so should...

She was about to play hero. She stopped herself. Poorly. She ought to play hero, should play hero. If she wouldn't be the hero, who would be? The world was full of silly - ignorant - people who just didn't understand, even when it was all so clear, and she was one of the only people equipped with sight clear enough to see the truth. Was she just going to wait while injustice was perpetrated? Or would she act? It was abundantly clear that evil would triumph if good people did nothing, and Rapunzel knew was a very good person. She had a duty to right the wrongs present in the world, nay, a sacred mission. Not sacred in the sense of made-up rituals or superstition, but sacred in the sense of true goodness and meaning. Rapunzel's hands were shaking.

She stood up and ran out of the cafe.

"Why is that girl so weird?" asked the bartender.

* * *

It's like a lightning storm, sometimes, but isn't that cliché? No, it was the thrashing battle of opposed men in death throes, caught by a death struggle, black and white soldiers marching rank and file, swords shattering in gray-pink meadows, furrows filled high and thick with blood. It was the bleeding eye edge of exhaustion, of straining mightily against an ever-closer dawn. Earlier, Elsa's eyes were weighty and had refused to stay open, but she had pressed onwards, the lure of sleep growing larger and larger, until she transcended it and it disappeared entirely, her eyes now numb to it. She stepped forward into a realm of pure, tranquil lucidity, surrounded by the unending whiteness of enlightenment, her hands stretching out to touch the steel face of clockwork perfection, all gears and ticking mechanisms and metal, an unearthly metal, a Platonic ideal of steel rather than steel. This, then, was enlightenment, not some well-preserved corpse of false passivity, a peace that was really idleness, lying underneath an apple tree, not some product of inaction, but the perfect communion of mind and the infinite, of mind with final cause and unity of knowledge. It was a unity of chaos and anarchy, thesis raging against antithesis, until, forces exhausted, all young men reduced to cinders, they met in the center and made uneasy armistice until the next sparking of thoughts. All time and space was lost in a whirling of vortex of time itself, time trapping time, time drowned in the sea of empty 5-Hour Energies and coffee cups that littered the unkind floor, time surging forward jerkily and unevenly, its movements measured by work, by project, by all consuming purpose, until the dying sunrise slipped its merciless tendrils through the windows of the room, lightening, bit-by-bit, the gloomy shade which dwelt inside.

"Long nights, impossible odds!" blared the speakers, as sunlight crept into the room.

And Elsa, lost in her work, was jarred back to reality. She whispered hoarsely, the sort of nonsense babble that comes when all creative energy has been expended, not words for the sake of words, but words for the sake of expelling air, for the sake of reminder. A reminder, for she had exhausted all self, for she needed to be reminded she was still flesh and blood and skin and bones and not a transcendent being, a thing of pure logic and engineering, had not become one with God.

She looked upon her work and found it an enigma. Like a puzzle box, it confounded her, and she could not discern the purpose or the construction of her labor. She knew that it worked, partly, or at least could work soon with many more nights of toil, but she found that she did not quite grasp the purpose of it. The knowledge of it was already slipping through her hands like sand. And she knew, truly, that she must have had a purpose in making it, but that purpose was beyond her. It was the size of a small baby, one fresh-delivered, and was draped in cloth. She examined the parts, but the parts, though recognizable, were arranged in a form that escaped her. She had only the vaguest inklings of understanding regarding the machine, which now stood stoic and impassive in the room.

Then Elsa laughed. In the delirium and ecstasy of inspiration, she had built a machine for the unclean. "Cleanliness _is_ next to godliness," she said. A shampoo-maker. It could not save her, but it was ironic. Perhaps it could clean away her mistakes and allow her to start anew.

Elsa hurried outside, for the dawn was already breaking upon her. The air was crisp, possessing the kind of clarity born from a rainshower's death. The concrete sidewalks were stained dark grey-black with water, and birds chirped their morning songs. Elsa raised her hands to shield her eyes from the sun.

It was bright, almost too bright, and she had a date with destiny.

* * *

Rapunzel hummed softly as she waited in the side room of the dean's office. Idly, she pulled out her phone and flipped through _Siddhartha_, a favorite of hers. She didn't really need to read much to situate herself, since she already knew the book well, knew which section she was on just by picking up a few choice words and images. And then, having taken those in, her recollections of the first and the second and the third and other innumerable readings would sweep her away, catching her like a monsoon flood, rushing down black and white pages like a roaring river. It was only snippets and pieces, really more of an impression of a book than anything, but still it gripped her more tightly than many full readings, because she knew it so well, because the book was her old friend. There was, in truth, no point to reading, only feeling.

The book was a part of her, and her it, and she felt guilty about it. The book was cultural appropriation in its purest form, for this was not her heritage, and she had no right to it, and yet she had seized it and demanded it wholesale, had annexed it into the crownlands of her soul. It was a pleasure founded on her own wickedness. And yet she could not deny it, would not deny it. It was, fragmented, the thing, a rock, upon which a life could be founded. And surely she could not be faulted for it? It was not her sin, for she did not write the book. Rather, she was using it to broaden her horizons. The wholesale theft of a native dance might be cultural appropriation, but could an anthropologist's study be faulted? She was a learner, a student. So Rapunzel kept skimming under the hazy buzzing of the fluorescent lights.

She stopped. She was sitting in a side room. The clock was there. Tick. Tock. It went. The hour approached. It had been difficult arranging it. It was so non-standard, _so crazy_! She shouldn't even think that word, it was ableist. Even someone as enlightened as her could occasionally fall prey to the kyriarchy and its all too easy inadvertent microaggressions. It went against all protocol. But who really cared about protocol? Protocol was really just a set of rules made up by white men, designed to ensure order, but what really mattered wasn't order, it was people. The rules existed to help people, people didn't exist to help rules. If the rules were impeding justice, then one ought to – no, one had a duty to – disobey. After all, that was what justice was about: rectifying oppression.

That poor girl was oppressed, too. Few people realized the depth of the oppressive social structures that tainted society, making everyone both victim and oppressor. It was sadly understandable that some people would defend such a structure, despite being victimized by it, since it gave them a measure of dignity. They didn't understand that dignity was inside them all along. They didn't need anyone to give them anything. They had intrinsic value of their own. She liked to fight the enemy, in fact, often liked to fight them too much, but she always had to remember that within each enemy was someone who was hurting.

She stepped into the main office and saw her. Elsa – that was her name – was there, looking sickly pale in the artificial light. Her eyes were blood-shot and brooding, with bags set under them, and her hair was disheveled. Elsa looked hatefully at Rapunzel, and that was about all that could be expected. But Rapunzel looked back. Elsa looked so weak, so fragile, like a porcelain doll about to shatter.

Rapunzel gulped. "Hello," she said.

"What do you want?" said Elsa.

"I want to help you," said Rapunzel.

"Haven't you already helped enough? I'm not sure I need any of your help," said Elsa.

"I think you're hurt. I want to make you better. I want you to understand what I mean when I talk about privilege and oppression and that sort of thing. It hurts you too," said Rapunzel.

"You want to re-educate me," deadpanned Elsa.

"No, that's not...it is about education, but it's not...brainwashing, or anything,," said Rapunzel.

"Of course. That would be incorrect thinking. Yes, commissar. Of course, commissar."

"Reitherman has a very strict policy regarding cultural sensitivity. It's in your best interests to cooperate. Furthermore, this is for your own good. You should appreciate the trouble I've gone to. I set up this meeting for you, and if it wasn't for me, you would be in a not very nice situation!" said Rapunzel.

"Of course, of course. I already knew I had no choice," said Elsa, sighing.

"Don't worry, it'll be fun!" said Rapunzel, smiling uneasily.

The Dean of Student Affairs said, "Rapunzel's been an R.A. for two years and she's a model student. She's the head of several student orgs, coordinates many cultural festivals, and even writes for the university paper - a number of very fine op eds. I was rather skeptical, but she says she sees something in you, so I'm willing to give her a shot. This is rather unorthodox, but I trust her. I think you'll come to trust her too."

Rapunzel gave Eric Larson, the Dean of Student Affairs, a thumbs up and led her surly ward out. They walked towards the parking lot. It was lighter out now, but a few gray clouds still lingered, perhaps remnants of last night's storm. It was calm, but only for the moment, for another storm could soon arrive. Much like the university itself, the town was a place for opposites to attract. Different races and different creeds mixed below, cold air and warm air collided above. Rapunzel shivered and thought another cold front was coming. Elsa stood behind her, cautious, like a cornered animal. Elsa was cagey. Elsa also didn't like the Prius, evidently. Or perhaps it was all the stickers.

Well, so be it. "Hope and Change. Progress for all. Coexist. A bright future! All of mankind standing, hand in hand, together," mouthed Elsa as she stared at the car's bumper, raising an eyebrow. That was what she believed in. It didn't matter if Elsa didn't care for it. It wasn't Elsa's car, now was it?

Still, as Rapunzel motioned for Elsa to get in, she was acutely aware that it was going to be a long drive.

* * *

**Author Notes: **So where do babies come from? Does anyone really know? Way I see it, it's all a conspiracy.

Just like Ohio.


	3. The Lotus Eaters

Rapunzel – what a strange name – sat, stony-faced and grimacing, in the driver's seat. Things could have gone better, but they certainly could have gone much, much worse. At least Elsa still had her scholarship, though it was held by the thinnest of threads. One could say that she played up the "poor girl from a poor family" angle, but it was true, and Elsa could not be faulted for it. The Dean had accepted it, much to Elsa's surprise. Or had he?

Elsa turned to look at Rapunzel.

Rapunzel, for her part, seemed concentrated on the road. Her eyes were locked forward, her hands gripping the wheel tightly. She breathed slowly and deliberately; Elsa watched the rhythmic rising and falling of her chest. It was almost metronomic, too measured and controlled to be quite natural. Rapunzel looked a bit triggered, that was it. Like a personified reaction image. That was the problem with these sorts. They preached liberty and freedom and demanded tolerance but voice one wrong opinion and they were upon you like hounds. It was hypocritical. It was disgusting. How could she not be disgusted?

They passed through a puddle. It splashed. The passengers, however, felt nothing. The suspension was good.

Elsa supposed she should say something, but she couldn't think of anything. Speaking to these kinds of people was like traversing a minefield. The silence wasn't awkward. It was something less than that and more. An awkward silence hangs in the air because both parties are aware of it, have knowledge of it, but cannot resolve it, are acutely aware of their mutual impotence. But this was not the case here; only a lingering, low-level sense of unease pervaded the car, not quite uncovered by the conscious minds of either, but it still crept through their stomachs, leaving its sticky, oozing footprints. So Elsa supposed she should say something.

How easily we are caught inside our own unrealities.

"Where are we going?" asked Elsa.

"My house," said Rapunzel without missing a beat. She glanced briefly at Elsa, blinked a few times, and turned back to give the road a dead stare. "That sounded better in my head. That's not weird, is it?"

Several minutes passed in silence. Rapunzel's eyes steered clear of Elsa all the while, practically affixed to the road, bulging perhaps unnaturally large. Outside, browning leaves fluttered down onto piles of their kin.

"Why?" asked Elsa.

Rapunzel took a hard left, the rubber of the tires screeching wild. Elsa was hurled against the door.

"That's a bad habit of mine, but I usually don't do that. The turn, I mean. Not the inviting women to my house. I mean, I do invite women to my house, but not for this! And not just women, singling out just women is sexist. Unless it's to empower them. Not that I am trying to empower you, well, I am, but I also invite men to my house. And non-binary genders! People! All people, all sorts of people, just having fun all the time. Normal, ordinary fun. Horses. What? No, nothing with horses, that'd be weird. But I could accept that! Do you like horses? I like horses. Wow. Yeah. I just thought it'd be better to talk in a comfortable setting, better than school, no listening ears, except mine! I'm always ready to listen. You should feel... safe?" said Rapunzel. She was very clear and understandable.

The woman was absolutely insane.

"I think we should put on some music," said Rapunzel. She pressed a few buttons on her iPhone.

The music came on strong and fierce. It was Rammstein. The loud, angry-sounding German voices were unmistakable. Elsa gave Rapunzel a strange look.

"So... what do your parents do?" asked Elsa.

"Oh good. Uhhh... my mom is a housekeeper, sort of," said Rapunzel.

Then they had common ground. Maids were not rich, and they had to compete with cheap immigrant labor. Cheap immigrant labor that made it hard for real Americans like Elsa to find work, that had the gall to complain about oppression when they were given money to go to college, and better spots, and preferential treatment in so many ways, and Elsa was almost the victim of a $60,000 annual bill. Poor them? Poor her.

"And my dad is a watchmaker. He could do better, but his English isn't so good. He went to some university in the Old Country. I'm glad he's white - I mean ashamed - but it made it easier on him. Because of his privilege. He has a lot of privilege," said Rapunzel.

Right. Riiiiiiiight.

Why did Rapunzel sympathize with the _subhumans_? The people that couldn't work and yet demanded to be coddled? The people that made life hard for both of them? They ought to be on the same side. Preferential treatment just because of skin color was blatantly unjust. They worked less and got better results. Some people called that reverse racism, but Elsa knew it for what it was - just plain ordinary racism. Reverse racism was another term used to twist the truth. Elsa was not to blame for the faults of generations past, especially when her family had never taken part in slavery. They were abolitionists. Elsa had checked. It had been third-grade history class, and they had a project to...

It didn't matter. They turned onto a country road. Concrete and steel gave way to wood and dirt. The meadows rustled, touched by a gentle wind.

The country had a cancer just as surely as her mother did. No, it was much worse than cancer, spreading relentlessly, consuming all resources, undermining self-repair and defense mechanisms, despoiling countrysides even more thoroughly than locusts, hardening, building its own defense mechanisms, subverting the natural ability of the body to fight it, spreading, infiltrating, heralding one day the collapse. Elsa was lucky her mother just had cancer. And across the sea? Britain's Jihadi Johns and an inability to resist terrorists openly attacking – killing – the police. Some diseases just ran in the family.

They went down the bumpy road, traveling further and further from the gentle grip of civilization, further into the wild lands, where law and order and civility held no sway. Surely Rapunzel or a family member would have a gun? After all, they were now far from the police. Safety, security, these were things needed by all humans. Except the sick. The incurably sick. Elsa looked deep into Rapunzel's green eyes. Were those sick eyes?

They approached walls.

…

Walls? Why were there walls in the middle of nowhere?

There was a brass gate in the wall.

"You live in a gated community?" asked Elsa.

"Uhhh... sorta?" said Rapunzel, fidgeting.

The gates opened soundlessly. They drove through. The gates closed.

There was a lot of grass inside, though there were few buildings. This was... pretty ritzy. Each house got this much space? All of them had pristine white paint and tiled roofs. For the most part, they were squat and square.

A horse ran up to the car, and Elsa's eyes widened. Rapunzel, though, just laughed, rolling down the windows.

"Here Maximus! Who's a good boy? You're a good horsie. You're the best horsie! So smart and loyal. Heh. You smart, you loyal. I can't play right now, I have a guest! Say hello to Elsa," said Rapunzel.

The horse nibbled Elsa's ear with its lips.

"What the fuck?" screamed Elsa.

"That's my pony, Maximus! Well, I guess he's a horse. You didn't want a pony when you were little?" asked Rapunzel.

"Yeah, but-"

The horse took a few more nibbles and trotted off. Drool slowly dripped down the side of Elsa's neck.

"Oh, sorry! Do you need a towel?" asked Rapunzel. Before Elsa could respond, Rapunzel opened the glove compartment and gave Elsa a towel.

Elsa wiped off her face. There were no people here, or at least very few. There was all this open space. Shouldn't kids be playing outside?

They drew closer to a central building and suddenly it hit her: all the buildings had gilded sun emblems on them.

Rapunzel's necklace – a sun!

"Do you own...all of this?" Elsa asked.

"It's my parent's place, I just rent it at a very affordable price," said Rapunzel. She paused. "That was a joke. It wasn't that funny, was it? Uhhh..."

Elsa's jaw dropped.

"...Do you want to go inside?" asked Rapunzel.

Elsa nodded slowly. Rapunzel unplugged her iPhone and the music switched to the iPhone's speakers.

Rapunzel swung open the double doors, the very large double doors, the doors with golden lion knockers and fine wood and gilding set in a marble frame and sitting under another golden sun and there was just so, so much gold and the buildings all around were marble and gold and fine wood too and Elsa just stepped through mutely, stepped through the door.

And inside was no different, and why would Elsa expect anything else? It was all the same. Glamour and gold and wide, infinite space choking her, seizing her, the tyranny of too much. It was the madness of a lab rat removed from its maze and placed into a open field for the first time. There was just too much choice; when there's no wrong answer, there's no right answer either.

In short, it was large.

Rapunzel took off her shoes and socks. "You should take your shoes off too! You'll track dirt inside otherwise, and then my mom has to clean it all up, and that's really inconvenient for her, especially since Dad says we have to live frugally like Americans, fit in, y'know, and so we don't have servants. Besides, it's nice to be barefoot! You can feel the breeze between your little toesies!" said Rapunzel.

The last lines of the song echoed through the palace, amplified greatly, echoing again and again, until the echo had totally eclipsed the original utterance of the iPhone.

"Acht... hier kommt die Sonne..."

* * *

**Author Notes:** Have you covered yourself in honey and run out into the street

the bees come

the bees come

wwhy it 8urts


	4. A Peace in Khotim

**Author Notes: **Read this chapter to John Cage's 4'33". Seriously, do it! lol

* * *

Elsa stood there, stunned, for several moments. Rapunzel fidgeted nervously. Then Elsa removed her shoes, placing the dismal, fraying sneakers by Rapunzel's polished black leather boots. They were reflected in the shine of the leather and could not but subordinate themselves to their tall masters.

A brown-haired woman, her age betrayed only by a few graying hairs, ran up to Rapunzel and began planting several sloppy kisses over her face. Rapunzel smiled. They babbled their strange Slavspeak at each other, a thing overfull with consonants, while Elsa stared up towards the ceiling. There was a chandelier above, set with pearly white crystal.

Elsa was an alien here.

This palace was not far from town, perhaps a thirty-minute drive, and yet seemed a world away. It was so strange, for this was her town, her homeland, and yet she was apart from it, had been separated from the place that had nursed and nurtured her - perhaps not well, but it was familiar. It seemed ludicrous to suppose someone a stranger in a strange land when there was no strange land, and yet there she was. It was far, far too much to take in.

So she didn't. Staring at the floor was easier. At least her reflection was familiar.

She barely even noticed Rapunzel's proffered hand enter her field of view, or the question that came with it. "Would you like to meet my dad?"

Elsa swallowed the lump in her throat and tentatively took Rapunzel's hand, which, perhaps, was a mistake, because Rapunzel immediately pulled her along, practically skipping forward, their feet racing upwards, Elsa stumbling over the smooth, polished stone floors, the two scrambling up the gleaming grand staircase.

By the time Elsa reached the top, she was short of breath. Rapunzel tried to pull her forward, failed, and turned back to look at her. Elsa glared at her. Rapunzel frowned.

"What's wrong? Am I too fast for you?" asked Rapunzel.

"Yeah. Can we slow down?" asked Elsa.

"Oh, alright. If you say so. Dad's room isn't that far, though! It's just at the end of this hallway!" said Rapunzel.

The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, and the end was nowhere in sight. It was lined with portraits, all sorts of portraits.

"I think I'll walk," said Elsa.

"Walking it is, Mrs. Sourpuss," said Rapunzel.

The portraits were unlike anything Elsa had ever seen before – mostly because she could never afford to go to a real museum. The few first sets were kept in strange machines, evidently for climate control. The proportions were strange. Evidently, long long ago, Rapunzel's ancestors - all giants, apparently - had settled in miniature castles on generic hilly countrysides. These pictures gave way to men – all men – in armor, gleaming bright. All of them held their swords at the ready. They were all coiled as if about to strike, latent energy still evident even after centuries of rest. Past them were fine men in fine coats and fine wigs, all giving the haughty gaze of born aristocrats. Past them, the color was lost, fading to black-and-white photographs. Rapunzel stopped in front of one of them.

"Hey Opa," she said.

Elsa took a look at the photo. It was a man, not quite young, but not quite old either. He was grinning widely, a cigar clenched in his mouth, his face smeared with blood and dirt. If not for that, he would've fit in today – he had that 'Hitler Youth' haircut that was so popular nowadays. Then Elsa noticed the German medals gripped in his right fist, still glistening with a dark liquid. More blood. On his arm, a two-color armband with the letters 'W.P.' and a white eagle. He was bedecked in weaponry. His rifle was sloped on his shoulder, he had a bandolier filled with grenades, and several more ammunition belts were wrapped around his chest. A few knives were sticking out of the pockets of his open vest.

"Just want you to know I'm keeping up the good fight. Fight the Power!" said Rapunzel, holding up a fist. Elsa resisted the urge to laugh.

They were at the end of the hallway now. "There's Dad, have fun!" said Rapunzel.

Elsa couldn't even respond before Rapunzel shoved her inside and closed the door. Elsa looked every which way, but that got her nowhere, so she slowed down and took a much better look. The room was not quite large and not quite small. Though several lights looked down from above, the light was not quite even, with the center dim and the walls focused. Every wall was covered in bookshelves. Most were in a foreign tongue - presumably Rapunzel's horrible little language - though many were in German, and there were even a few in English, though the titles she noticed were mostly related to learning English or self-improvement.

The centerpiece of the room was an enormous, both in height and width, man, one who dwarfed the desk he sat at. He was brown-haired, and as Elsa watched, he turned. Then stood.

Standing, he was even larger, and Elsa was shocked at the speed with which that massive bulk could move. Elsa stammered out some nonsense as he drew closer and closer; eventually he was looming over her, and Elsa was very, very small. His nostrils were flaring, as if he was a raging bull.

"So... Rapunzel brings me another one? I am sure she tells you many tall tales. Tells you that I gobble up bad little girls. She is very silly, is she not?" asked the man.

"Uhhh... what?" asked Elsa.

"And I am sure she has prepared you! Told you how fiercely I question her would-be-princesses! But no matter what she has done, I assure you, you are not ready. You are not, how you say, constitution. Your constitution is not strong enough. You are not strong enough," said the man who must be Rapunzel's father.

"I don't under-" Elsa tried to say.

"Already you falter!" he roared, pointing a single accusatory finger at her. Elsa stepped back instinctively. That only made him sneer.

"What makes you worthy of the Prittwicz name, as she calls it? What gives you the audacity to seize it?" asked Rapunzel's father, stepping back and turning to look at the bookshelves. He idly glanced at a temperature-controlled case on his desk. The title was the only hint to the content, and to Elsa, _Wojna chocimska_ looked like utter gibberish.

"You like this book, yes? Good! It is old. But my family is older. My family is almost as old as Poland itself! We saw the glory days of the Piasts. We were at Tannenberg – both battles – and at the first, both sides! We rode as great cavalry masters, teaching soldiers how to fight like men. When Frederick the Great came, praise be upon him, he saw the valor of our hearts. While others were purged as Austrian scum, we survived, we kept our lands, and we prospered. It was a Prittwitz captain that saved Frederick's life at Kunersdorf! Prittwitzes held back the savage Asiatic hordes of Russia, from the times of Piast, to the Commonwealth, to Prussia, to World War I. And we have fought for liberty, we have defended the free countries of the world. My own father fought back against the greatest tyrant this world has known, and how was he repaid? With sheer ingratitude, and it was then that he knew freedom was dead in Europe and lay only in the far West. My family is old and gloried beyond measure. What do you bring to it?"

His voice was low and guttural, yet it spat words out as rapidly as any machine gun. His consonants were quick and harsh, and there was a dark, melodious tinge to everything he said. His bushy eyebrows twitched as he spoke, and he could not keep his hands from shaking, especially as his eyes saw past her and into days long gone, grand and unforgotten.. And yet Elsa did not know what to make of it, how to res-

"Speak, girl! Or have you gone deaf?" shouted the man.

"I-I-I-I don't know! What do you want me to say?" asked Elsa.

"Bah! Asking me what to say. Indicative of servile attitude, the product of inferior intelligence. No slouching!"

"What?" asked Elsa. Her voice was shaky.

"I said no slouching! Slouching is bad posture. Slouching makes you small. You stand, you stare me in the eye, you fight. You must be a warrior. All von Prittwitzes have been warriors, ever since our name was marked down in the records, all the way back in the early 1200s."

"Well..." began Elsa.

"Well? Well, what! Come on, sell me! Speak! Assert!"

Elsa was cornered. In front of her a bear of a man, behind her the closed door. There was to be no flight from here. She looked around madly for an alternate exit, but there was none. Her heart was pounding, and wildly did she lash out, like a bison calf making its last stand.

"Assert? How's this for asserting, you overblown pompous buffoon? I didn't come here to be yelled at. In fact, I'm not sure why I came here at all! Your daughter is a bitch and you're an asshole with a superiority complex and more money than sense. Go fuck yourself! You want me to sell myself? Fine. I bust my ass every day, not on some feelgood liberal arts pretty-on-paper, useless-in-life bullshit degree, but in a real industry. Chemical engineering - ever heard of it? And unlike those idiots she's dragged in here before, my hard work is already paying off. A free ride, all expenses paid, college education, and it's mine because I earned it with my own two fucking hands. And you may put a bunch of stock in your fancy titles and pedigree, but my name is Elsa Smith, and it's a damn fine name because it doesn't _need_ to put on airs. Because here in America, we earn what we have through grit and skill, we don't inherit bullshit. What you see is what you get, and if you're not impressed by what you see, you're as foolish as your daughter, because you'll never see anyone better. So, sir, kindly go suck a horse's cock and get out of my face. Sir."

Elsa slowly closed her eyes. She put her hand to her mouth. Fuck. She was going to die. Her emotional outbursts were absurd – she ought to wall herself off or something. Hell, if she had a gun, she'd go on a killing spree every week, and if she had magic powers or something, she'd level a whole country by accident. She just insulted some sort of supreme oligarch and she was going to die. Because she was stupid and she deserved it.

He just stared. Then he laughed. He laughed harder and harder until he was practically rolling on the floor. Then he stood, retrieved a well-worn measuring tape, and walked up to Elsa. He shushed her and patted her hair affectionately. Elsa tried to react, but felt, just beyond the layer of fat, pure muscle, hard and thick as steel cables. The man was a mountain of muscle. He measured her skull. He measured the distance between her eyes, their width. He looked thoughtful for a few moments, then he measured her nose. There was an almost maddening intensity to his eyes, which burned with unnatural fire and light, which sized her up as if she was a piece of meat. He pulled back her eyelids to examine the whites of her eyeball. Maybe he did eat people after all.

"Hmm. Blue. A good color. Very intelligent eyes," he murmured.

He examined her hair, tracing it back to its roots. He sniffed the air around her.

"What is the maximum efficiency of a heat engine?" asked Rapunzel's father.

Her mind jostled, panic and confusion settling in, quickly dislodged in turn by the blitzkrieg of intellect, which declared democracy over, installing a dictatorship of skill, the chaos and the fury all over in a split second. Gone was the meek girl, replaced by a creature of pure instinct.

"One minus T C over T H. It does a Carnot cycle."

"Euler equations?"

"Partial u partial t plus u dot grad u plus grad w equals g. And div u equals zero. They're used for flui-"

Rapunzel's father hit her with another question before she could even finish. And after that one, another and another. He drilled her on every equation, then asked for applications, then changed gears and switched subjects. Art history was next, with his rattleshot voice flying through the eras, forcing her to recall any and all scraps of art knowledge, wringing her dry. Before she could catch her breath, he loaded up a barrage of economics questions, going well beyond any of the basic introductory courses she had taken, forcing her to derive strange new equations and explanations on the spot. Her voice grew hoarse and whispered. And still it was not enough for him. He continued to circle her like a shark, always checking his watch after every question, always ready to strike. Literature next! First titles she'd first encountered in English, but, as always, he quickly pushed past her limit. He delved deep into the most obscure titles, then assaulted her with all sorts of foreign titles. Whenever he touched upon a title she knew, he would probe deep, asking her about every nuance and shade of meaning present in the book. And just as it seemed like the musty old texts of dead men would never end, he relented, switching to history. She had thought herself prepared, but she wasn't. Again, he soon was beyond any school curriculum, asking her to interpret events from Babylon to Kyoto to Cahokia. And each time she advanced an explanation, he destroyed it, burying it in a flurry of primary sources and scholarly research. She would switch tacks, only to be torn down again. Sometimes she would even switch to the explanation he favored, only for him to immediately attack that one, tearing apart the explanation he had just supported. They plowed through field after field, his questions merciless and grueling. The lights seemed to swim, but it could've been the delusions of an increasingly stressed mind. Finally, they returned to chemical engineering, where he pressed harder and harder, ending with a question of how to construct some sort of machine she had barely heard, in passing, in an graduate-level lecture she had sat in on.

"I would have to consult my notes," gasped out Elsa.

"Good answer. Perhaps consult me too. I am schooled in mechanical engineering. I know machines," said Rapunzel's father.

He sat back into his chair, melting into it with a contented sigh. He smiled. "Gut, gut."

Elsa wanted to say something, anything, but she was completely out of breath and brainpower alike.

He paused, took a deep breath, and continued.

"You know, normally Rapunzel brings me very... what are they called? Untermensch? No. They are all very stupid. They cannot answer the simplest questions. I ask them about the field they study - what do I get? Nonsense! Political nonsense that I am far too old for now, and the answers, they give me answers, all about equality with gibberish piled on top. And while equality is a fine idea, very fine, it does not make everyone equal! If that were so, why would I succeed and not so many others? They do not have good answers. They say I work hard."

Rapunzel's father scoffed.

"Ha! I know flattery when I see it. I think... I think she feels I do not respect her lifestyle. She thinks I am just very mean. That I reject people because I disapprove of her life. But no, she just has a most horrible taste! Only the simpering buffoonish contemptible, gah! Her women are like stupid pigdogs, only _banialuka _from their mouths. My own life was not as easy as this mansion makes it seem. For the first thirty years, I could not use any of the family wealth. My grandfather, bless his wisdom, had liquidated all of our assets save the manor itself, and secreted them away. But the curtain falls and I could not use any of the money, even though I knew it was good. So it was like I had nothing but my home. And then the Soviets came and took even that away. Expelled us for being German! The absurdity of it! My family dwells there for a thousand years, and now we are expelled for being foreign? In my heart, I hope I am still Silesian, but every year makes it more doubtful. And I suppose, what I want is for her to have an easier life. No, not an easier life, a much better life. I wish only the best for her. To tie yourself to someone... is a very weighty choice. If someone cannot survive even the most basic screening, how are they to stand by you when Gestapo search your home, or when the homeland calls for strong hands? Rapunzel calls herself a warrior, and I am glad for that, but I worry that her lovers will be unfaithful while she serves the Fatherland. Only the best for her, do you understand?"

He sighed.

"You may call me Czcibor. Or even Ctibor! Now, where is Rapunzel? She is usually lurking nearby, probably to cheer up her damnable strumpets." He opened the door.

"Rapunzel?" he called out.

He went back into his study. "Bah. She is like lizard which is very good at hiding. The frog! She blends into everything. When she was little, she had one as a pet. It died, as all things do, but I suppose she learned."

Rapunzel popped into the hallway.

"Ha! How does it feel to be ridiculed and mocked and insulted and treated unfairly for things you can't control? How does it feel to be talked down to? It hurts, doesn't it? Maybe now you'll understand the plight of-"

Czcibor tilted his head and shrugged. "Rapunzel, I like her."

Her eyes widened.

"Yeah, your dad's cool," said Elsa. Rapunzel's jaw dropped.

She began to stammer. Elsa chuckled as Czcibor lumbered back into his study and closed the door.

"Rapunzel von Prittwitz, eh?" asked Elsa.

"Don't you say that! That is a hateful way of saying a name because it's full of oppressive associations, implicit assumptions of class superiority, and outdated notions of inherited nobility which disproportionately benefit white people. My name is Rapunzel Prittwicz."

"Right, right, yeah, full of oppression bad things. I'm learning so much about social justice. Maybe we need a new name for you? Hrm. Hmmm. Ooh, I know! Prisswits. I like the sound of that! Don't you, Prisswits?"

Rapunzel turned red and stamped her foot. Elsa chuckled. Things were finally looking up.

* * *

**Author Notes:** While the Prittwitzes are a very real, very old Silesian family, the Prittwitzes depicted above do not represent a real branch. It is the case that Prittwitzes have been around since at least 1283. A Prittwitz did save Frederick the Great at Kunersdorf, and Prittwitzes have distinguished themselves in a number of ways throughout the years. However, these deeds cannot coherently be associated with one branch. The family epic presented is of my own invention. Furthermore, while both sides hired mercenaries from many regions, including Silesia, prior to the first Battle of Tannenberg, the records are incomplete and do not indicate Prittwitzes on both sides (unless I missed something). I normally wouldn't comment on this sort of thing, since it would result in very, very long author notes for my other main fic, but this seems standard for more normal fics.

I've always thought it needlessly self-congratulatory, though. Look at how smart I am I am a very smarty smart smart pants my pants are smart

hasuohourwepaheuphptoawepouaweropapo;jzdfhuwioeyraohjd

CLOWNS BEING BASHED OVER THE HEAD WITH GIANT FLOPPY DILDOS.

OH MY FUCKING GOD I AM LITERALY DROWNING IN COCKS SEND HELP


	5. Cronus in Uranus

This... woman? Girl? No, girl was ageist. Woman. This woman was in a much worse state than she thought. She was ignorant and uneducated and silly-well, deadly serious, but serious about silly beliefs, and infuriatingly obstinate about simple but often overlooked truths. More extreme measures were needed.

But, already, she could see it all playing it out in her mind. She would, kindly, and in the spirit of education, bring up ableism. "Prisswits", by referencing mental capabilities and certain personalities in a negative way, was problematic. Priss referred to prissy, thus implying prissiness was a negative trait, and since prissiness was only associated with women, it shamed the entire gender, as well all other identities sharing this aspect of what was not necessarily femininity! And while wit was usually used in a positive way, when attached to another word, it was usually an insult, like here, where it was sarcastic and meant she was not actually intelligent at all! But the insinuation that lack of intelligence was bad was ableist!

It would all backfire! Rapunzel knew Elsa would say that the name was a compliment, and Rapunzel was really bringing her own baggage to it. Elsa, after all, hadn't associated prissiness with something negative, nor had she used stupidity as a drawback. And Rapunzel wouldn't be able to respond, even though she knew Elsa was being disingenuous and it wasn't a compliment at all! Elsa wasn't interested in learning to be a better person; all she wanted was to make fun of her.

Somehow Papa had subverted the bonds of sisterhood to bring Elsa into his cult of patriarchy. He never really appreciated her life choices, and he was constantly microaggressing against her. But she could not be stopped! She had a duty to fight the power! Fight the Da– Man! She seethed-in a completely tolerant and kind-hearted way with intent to help and educate others, that is. Papa always had a way with words, and Elsa was weak-minded. Yes, this was the only conclusion.

Elsa was tilting her head now, which was almost cute in a way, and that was unacceptable! It was just like, just like - well, it was problematic. Elsa was trying to use her beauty to get away with racism and sexism and all the -isms, playing that damsel-in-distress card - and Elsa was no damsel, no siree - and Rapunzel wasn't going to let Elsa get away with it. Rapunzel wasn't going to treat Elsa like a sex object when she was a person. An awful, awful person with adorably blue eyes and smooth blonde hair and a truly wretched set of beliefs and a sick mind.

Think, she had to think. Rapunzel had to concoct another brilliant plan. Brilliant – yes, for she was brilliant, was intelligent no matter what anyone said – because she was. Changing majors was a choice, not a symptom of her not being able to hack it, oh the ever-so-funny double meaning of that pun, spoken by all the very, very clever boys with faces covered in craters, all orbiting around their leader who was so convinced of his own good looks and talent. None of them knew she was setting the curve for every test, and even if they did, they'd assume, just because she was a conventionally attractive woman, she'd sucked off the professor. They didn't know how much their words hurt. And she had tried to play their game, just like Dad told her to. But it never worked, and that was when Rapunzel realized she would never win by playing a man's game of hurting in a man's world. Well, more accurately, she had realized that two months later in her Intro to Gender Studies course. She had to heal them, not hurt them.

Even then, she was a little glad when she heard what had happened. All his buddies - the other ones, the ones he had to deign to meet yet never seemed to grow tired of, the ones in "her social circle", and he said that in the smuggest, most insufferable way - always called him "Chad" in that half-mocking, half-respectful tone she could never understand, and that bastard would just laugh; he was always so sure of himself, captain of the football team, wrote his own webcomic, head of the business frat, why was he so confident? What gave him the right? All those fancy titles? How could he laugh at his own jokes? Didn't he realize how douchey that was? His comic was terrible in every way, with freakish malformed faces and a creep of a main character, some stupid space pirate named Flynn. And the football team lost every game it played! Now he was dead, shot in a drug deal gone very, very bad, because of course a guy like him was dealing for every lowlife in town. Of course, it only made sense; maybe he was happy because he was a druggie; maybe she was happy he was dead; maybe nobody could make sense of it until it was over; halting, halting, like scattered memories; no, fragmented, that was better; and all his buddies left her alone, stopped bothering her; she was glad for that too; things kept ticking along; edges rose; it was all a matter of timing; snakes, camels, and owls dancing around burnt coffee, floating in a sunless sea; the harder she pressed, the harder the resistance got; and she kept walking, more alone than ever; and then the funeral came.

His parents – not his real parents, he was adopted – invited her. Said that he had always liked her, but never had the courage, and now it was too late. Poor, poor Eugene, they cried.

She didn't go. It was better that way. Then she changed majors.

Because of a man. Because of men. How despicably weak of her. Papa despised weakness.

She didn't care what Papa thought.

Elsa put her hand on Rapunzel's shoulder. Leaned in, gave that condescending look of pity.

"Get your hand off me!" screeched Rapunzel.

Elsa immediately pulled back.

"Reeeee," Elsa said with a low, half-chuckle. Like there was a terribly funny joke to it that she didn't want to share. Then she caught herself. "Are you okay?"

"Yes."

Rapunzel couldn't let Elsa see her weak side, no matter how much it hurt to keep it all in. But she was very bad at controlling these things. She just wanted to shine all over the world, was that really so wrong?

Evidently it was. Kill her with kindness. Elsa had to be taught.

"Are you hungry?" asked Rapunzel.

Elsa was staring, her face scrunched up and her left eyebrow arched curiously. "You looked really... intense, there. I mean, like, caught in something. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, I'm sure I'm okay," said Rapunzel. She didn't want to be patronized, but she didn't say it. "Do you like eggs?"

"Yeah, I like eggs," said Elsa. Elsa liked eggs. Rapunzel noted that fact.

She wouldn't let Elsa win.

Rapunzel led Elsa to the kitchen. It was an ordinary kitchen. It had a fridge, a sink, a dishwasher, a stove, a microwave, a toaster oven, a coffee-maker; all the normal stuff. The SmartCook avatar on the screen on the fridge made eye contact with Rapunzel and scanned her retina. It then chirped confirmation and purred to life.

"Greetings, mistress!" said the fridge.

"Fetch omelet recipes!" commanded Rapunzel.

"The following recipes exist for 'omelette'!"

An long list appeared on the screen.

"In addition, our SmartCook evocook algorithm is prepared to suggest new recipes. Remember to rate every meal so we can better serve you."

"Elsa, what do you like in your omelette?" asked Rapunzel as Elsa stared dumbly at the fridge.

"Uhhh... anything, I guess. I usually use whatever I have lying around," said Elsa.

"But what's your favorite?" asked Rapunzel.

Elsa stopped to think. It really wasn't that hard of a question, but Elsa thought for a real long time.

"Sorry, it's a bit dusty in here," said Elsa, blinking and rubbing the corner of one eye. That couldn't be true. They had state-of-the-air air filtration. Elsa was a born liar, wasn't she? A cunning foe. "I guess... lobster. But who ever heard of a lobster omele-"

Rapunzel snapped her fingers. "Housemate? Frying pan."

The wall opened up and provided her a frying pan. These were the kinds of conveniences that made it possible to live without servants. She placed the frying pan on the stove, then retrieved a few eggs from the fridge. She looked up at a monitor.

"Housemate, display lobster tanks." Rapunzel was faintly aware of a gasp around her. "Elsa, which one do you want?"

The poor girl was babbling. It was like she'd never seen a kitchen before. Probably bought fast food all the time.

"I'll pick one," said Rapunzel, sighing. "Just wait here, I'll be back."

She picked a lobster, one that was large, but not too large. She brought it back into the kitchen. Quickly, she drove a knife into its head, splitting it open right behind the eyes and killing it. Elsa was now sitting in a comfy leather chair, her fingers resting on an open newspaper as she looked at the floor. Rapunzel got a skillet from the Housemate, poured in some olive oil, waited for a bit, then melted some butter. She sprinkled the lobster with salt and pepper. She sauteed the lobster in the skillet with the butter while frying the eggs. She added the lobster to the eggs.

Rapunzel glanced at Elsa, still staring stupidly. "Well? Aren't you going to get a plate?"

Elsa snapped her head up, blinking for a few moments before glaring. "Gee, I don't know, isn't that the wife's job?"

Rapunzel started to object. Then her knees got wobbly. Elsa was right, absolutely right. Rapunzel had walked right into her trap of traditional gender roles. Not only that, she had planned this all from the beginning. She knew that she knew that she knew that she knew that the insult would inevitably lead to an ableism response which would cause Rapunzel to avoid the response which would lead to the kindness strategy which meant no matter what Rapunzel would end up cooking for Elsa and Elsa was seven steps ahead the whole time. And now Elsa was steepling her fingers, enjoying her victory. Elsa was a mastermind and Rapunzel was just a stupid, stupid girl. Just like everyone said.

Rapunzel collapsed into a sobbing heap. She heard Elsa walk over to her. Judging her, Rapunzel was sure. Everyone was always judging. She just wanted everyone to get along in peace and harmony but everyone was always judging her; she always felt like the butt of some vague joke. That was her life. A joke. A terrible joke. Even now, it was a joke. Elsa only responded because of societal conditioning; a damsel-in-distress had to be protected. Even now, she was affirming traditional gender roles and the patriarchy. "S-s-stop...don't make fun of me, don't even touch me! I don't want you to touch me," sobbed Rapunzel.

Elsa knelt down and hugged Rapunzel tight, awkwardly patting the side of Rapunzel's head. Each time Rapunzel sobbed, Elsa patted and shushed her. Rapunzel didn't need to be protected. "I don't need you," said Rapunzel weakly.

Weakness. Rapunzel was weak. She was always weak. Papa was right. A strong person wouldn't give up at the first sign of adversity. A strong person wouldn't care about what people said. A strong person would fight and win. They said that's not what strength is. They said that strength was the ability to forgive and change minds. But they were wrong. Rapunzel still wasn't strong. She would never be strong.

"I know you don't," murmured Elsa. "But it's gonna be okay."

But it would only be okay if someone fixed it. Rapunzel was supposed to fix things herself. She was supposed to be a warrior! And she wasn't.

She was pathetic. And the world was judging her.

Elsa stood. Gave her a look – a judgmental look! Elsa stroked her hair and Rapunzel didn't have the strength to resist. Elsa turned off the stove. The omelette was burnt.

Elsa slid it onto a plate and sat down beside Rapunzel. She picked off pieces with her hands. The eggs were blackened and rubbery and Elsa chewed methodically, nodding with every mouthful. She never moved from Rapunzel's side.

They sat together for a long time.

* * *

**Author Notes:  
**benis in bagina :DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD


End file.
